Go south, that's where they sing the blues
by Captain Singsong
Summary: McCoy, the heavy drinking, foul mouthed former doctor tends bar in a speakeasy in a town he can't escape. Jim Kirk rolls into town on the back of a horse and maybe, just maybe, sets him free Prohibition Era AU McKirk
1. Chapter 1

A dusty road. A dry wind blows. A pervading heat. There is a town at the end of this road, how it still stands no one knows. There's not much. Houses, a few stores, a saloon. This is not a town for living in. It's a town for passing through, and that is what those stuck there claim they are doing.

"I'm not stayin' forever, this is just a convenient rest place."

"It's temporary you know? Just waitin' here 'til somethin' comes along."

They never leave.

Leonard McCoy once believed that he could escape. He strolled up to the town, cocky, confident, certain that he was better than everyone else there. He wouldn't be staying in this dump, he'd be gone in a few months. He told people as much. He was staying in the town because he didn't have anything better to do. But he'd be gone soon, you could be sure about that. People had muttered and rolled their eyes, but no one said anything.

Truth be told, he had been ordered out of the city by his wife's new (richer, more handsome, more connected) husband. Nothing was explicitly stated (no legal culpability), but he was a bit worried as to what would happen if he didn't obey him.

So he'd intended to lay low for a few months, before returning to the big city. The look in that man's eyes when Leo had turned up at the family home, where he used to live before _she _destroyed everything. He'd just wanted to see his baby girl. Alright, he may have had a few drinks beforehand, but that didn't matter. He was _entitled_!

Didn't seem to matter to them.

So he'd been warned off, told to get out of town if he didn't want anything to happen to his surgery: his life's work; his greatest achievement bar Joanna. What could he do? Looking back, he realised just how much of an idiot he'd been that night, turning up late at night smelling of drink and shouting for his daughter. What must Jo have thought? That was the turning point. The next morning he packed his bags, closed the surgery "temporarily" and kissed his mother goodbye, promising to write. Then he'd picked a direction and a road, and arrived at this god forsaken town.

This could be good for him, he'd thought. He needed a vacation after Joss and everything, he told himself. He'd been too stressed, he'd drank far too much, and look at where that had gotten him.

This was his chance to reinvent himself.

He hadn't seen the need to proclaim himself as a doctor. He hadn't seen the need to tell anything about himself. He found a bar, one of those stupid archetypal cowboy bars with the swinging saloon doors, and wangled his way into a job bartending. He'd done it at med school, when he needed money to court Joss and found he couldn't afford to go out drinking every night with her rich privileged friends it had become a necessity. The job came with an apartment above the bar, it was assumed he'd chuck out any drunks and lock up each night.

The owner, a Chris Pike, had fought in the Phillipine Insurrection, but had been wounded in the line of duty. He was in a wheelchair now, from an injury Leo was certain could have healed properly - allowing Pike to regain the use of his legs - if it hadn't been some incompetent field doctor treating him.

That stupid war. He'd been too young to fight at the time - not that he'd wanted to fight anyroad - but his father had been conscripted. A lot of men from his town had fought. They'd gone off to war, the children and the women waving them off.

Most of them never came back.

Those who had returned, including his father, had not been those laughing carefree men that left. His father could barely function, never mind hold a scalpel steady. Leo'd been a pacifist ever since, inspired to train as a doctor and follow in his fathers footsteps by the hope that he could _help_ those forgotten by the government.

But no. He was stuck here, in this godforsaken town, working in this godforsaken bar, (_Enterprise_ it was called. What kind of damn fool name was that?) and hoping against hope that he could somehow get out.

But then the news came that his surgery had burned down. His livelihood. That had been a hard blow. He'd spent the days in a drunken stupor until Pike had somehow managed to get up the stairs and told him to get over himself. He'd looked at Pike properly then, this man he'd disregarded as broken, and saw him clearly for the first time. Pike was a military man. He still kept fit, still held himself straight as an arrow, still kept his hair cut close to his head. Pike had made the best of what had happened. All Leo'd lost was a building. Pike had lost his _legs. _

He resigned himself to staying in the town ( He wasn't happy about it but he really did have nothing better to do now) and busied himself with getting to know the people in the town. Not hard, he was a bartender in a town of broken dreams, who else could people talk to? Even if it was a bartender that scowled, insulted and generally sent out a "Stay away from me" vibe. Drunk people would talk to anyone.

He watched them drink their sorrows away every night and thanked god he'd cut back on his drinking. He'd be fired if he got drunk at work anyway, that Pike was a hard ass.

Jim's father had been a hero. That was what everyone had said. Jim personally was a little jealous. His father had managed to avoid ever returning to this shitty town with it's shitty prejudiced DICKS. His father would never have to hear his mother sigh about how disappointed she was in him, his father would never see the glances sent at his son, the whispers.

"That's George Kirk's son. The poor mother, first her husband sacrifices himself, then the son grows up like_ that._"

Granted, his father was dead and Jim was not jealous of_ that _at all_. _

But he couldn't help wondering what it would be like if his father had never sacrificed himself to save all those people, if he'd taken the cowards way. Probably would have descended into drinking. Shouted all the time about how he could have saved people but instead he cared about his wife and newborn. Maybe not a very fun experience either.

Jim made the best of what he had, and dreamed of the day he could escape.

_Sooo… I'm assuming most of the people reading this are aware of the fact it's going to have more than one chapter? I just haven't decided where it's gonna go yet :s_


	2. Chapter 2

Go south, that's where they sing the blues: Part 2

_A few unremarkable months later_

"Jim! Don't walk away from me! I'm your mother!" Jim Kirk stormed out of the house, followed closely by a small blonde woman.

"You can't do this! You know how dangerous it is, not to mention illegal!"

Jim pivoted. "You know what else people wanted to make illegal? Freeing slaves! How'd that turn out?"

Winona Kirk sighed.

"Jim. I need you here. Your stepfather can't work anymore - don't scoff at me young man - and my wages won't support us forever."

"That's why I'm taking this job mom! I'll send as much money as I can back every month. I'll set up a base in some crappy out of the way town down south with a speakeasy, and make trips up to the big cites, try and sell some of the excess, make some more money. These little towns, there's nothing else to do _but _drink. They'll stay loyal to me, they won't give me up."

Winona stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. As much as it pained her, she knew it was for the best. They'd been struggling lately. Frank had been laid off and struck down with depression, making it impossible for him to find another job. They were barely getting by on her meagre salary. Jim gave them money when he could, not much to spend his (paltry) wages on now there was an alcohol ban anyway.

"Where will you get the alcohol?" Jim shrugged.

"I know a guy" A crazy Scot as a matter of fact, the guy had been making his own alcohol since Jim was learning to walk and learning not to talk. "I'm gonna take him with me, he can distill, I'll sell it." He could see Winona weakening, nice to know that she worried about her son's welfare for an entire two minutes - a new record.

"… Well, whereabouts is this town? I'd like to be able to contact you if things go wrong here."

Jim sighed. He'd harboured a slight hope that his mom would put her foot down, call him a stupid boy, pull him close and hug him like she hadn't done since he could remember.

In a fit of pique, he didn't answer her, just shrugged, turned around and swung up onto his horse Cupcake. He'd let a girlfriend name her okay? He wanted to get laid more than he cared about some stupid name. It had been mutual dislike at first sight, Cupcake bucking him the minute he'd attempted to ride him. Frank had obviously found this hysterical and decided to buy him claiming the comedy was worth it.

But Cupcake was the only transport he had, so he was taking him. He had arranged to meet Scotty at this town, it had once had a name, but people just referred to it as Space for some reason. It was apparently the last town before the desert - the Final Frontier as it were.

He glanced back at his mother. She was standing, arms folded, on the porch of his old home. He was struck by how small she was. She was only one woman, the complaints he had seemed petty and stupid now. So he waved to her.

"I love you mom." It was the first time he'd said it in many years. She looked startled then relaxed minutely softening her posture. But she didn't wave back let alone return his sentiment.

Jim hefted the few possessions he had on his back. He had a fair way to go, and he was hoping to manage it in as short a time as possible.

McCoy sighed, manhandling the last drunk of the night out into the cool night air. That was all their alcohol gone. When the alcohol ban had passed, he hadn't thought it would last long. Pike had bought as much as he could - he was in no way enamoured with the government after his experience, and he wasn't letting them destroy another of his careers. So the alcohol had kept flowing, the drunks were happy, but Leo'd known it wouldn't last long, especially with the ban gaining support.

Unless either he or Pike were willing to go into the city, see if they could find a bootlegger willing to sell to them, they were fucked.

Pike just shrugged of course and said that things would work out somehow. The idiot. How could he be so calm?

The drunk he was holding groaned. Leo glanced at him, in a mixture of annoyance and pity. He was only a kid, Leo really shouldn't have been serving him. But hey, he was already breaking the rules by serving alcohol, what did another crime matter?

The kid was some weird foreigner - a genius in exile if you believed gossip - but the poor guy - Chekhov his name was, sounded like Leo had something in his throat whenever he tried to say it so he mostly just called him kid - had this crush on one of the guys staying "for a while" in Space - Sulu. A guy. Now McCoy was all for live and let live - you did some crazy shit when you were drunk in college, and he seen a few _damaged_ men in his clinic. His clinic had been well known as having a policy of "ask nothing, judge no-one." back in the city. He dreaded to think how some of those poor people were doing without him.

He'd had all sorts. The prostitutes, the drug addicts, the felons on the run. Even the crime lords and their gangs. (They paid handsomely for his silence, and Leonard had no qualms milking them. They were responsible for most of the others he treated. He regarded it as just.)

What had truly upset him were the kids - homeless, too young to know the world, turned to prostitution to stay alive. Some of them had been guys, taking the customers that had sick fantasies. Rape, beatings, these kids took it all, just in the hope they would get enough food to survive. All Leo could do was patch them up, attempt to help them, feed them and give them a Talk about how they were better than this all the while knowing they'd be back the next week when some "client" got too rough.

Chekhov had immediately taken a shine to the exotic looking man that entered the bar a few weeks back. He had claimed to be on vacation. More likely Sulu had pissed off the boss he worked for - McCoy had seen the gun and sword hanging from his belt that Sulu thought he'd disguised so cleverly, claiming he was a teacher, and they were fake, for exemplification when teaching history. Idiot. Too fucking stupid to be a damn teacher. Probably in hiding from his gangster boss.

Chekhov had been sitting at the bar - drinking water thankyouverymuch, tonight was a special occasion - when Sulu had walked in. The way the kids eyes had lit up, that instant hero worship McCoy could recognise all too clearly. Jo had been like that the first time she'd met Jocelyn's new boyfriend.

Sulu had taken a seat at the bar near the kid and they'd instantly bonded, chatting the entire night.

Chekhov was young. He was afflicted with that… what was it called? Puppy Love? Everyone could see it except Sulu. They were an accepting bunch round here. Everyone had their own secrets. So they'd smiled indulgently, taken by the over eager Russian boy, and hoped that he wasn't hurt to badly when the friendship inevitably turned sour. Today Chekhov had made his move - he was seventeen it was only to expected - and it had gone badly.

Leo didn't have all the details, but when the young man had rushed in in tears begging for alcohol and waving some coins about, what could he do? Apparently, they'd been out in the yard, Sulu teaching Chekhov how to fence. When he'd been pinned, the kid had seen an opening and taken it, leaning up and kissing Sulu. That had _not _gone down well.

Chekhov hadn't told him what Sulu had said, but McCoy could guess well enough. What little he could get out of the devastated boy seemed to hint at slurs against the kids person, his country and other, stranger insults about his awful fencing ability.

It disgusted him. No one should have to experience that. Sure, preferring men was illegal, but then again, Sulu was technically enabling bootleggers and smugglers by going to a speakeasy, and he didn't seem bothered by that.

The kid had run in, eyes red but face dry. McCoy had silently passed him a whisky - opening the last bottle - and waited for the kid to tell him what had happened.

Of course, the idiotic lightweight _underage _slip of a boy had gotten paralytic, unable to even walk. At closing time, when the waitress, a red headed seemingly vapid redhead that Leo knew exaggerated how dumb she was, was clearing the tables and sweeping the floor by the time he could bring himself to move the kid. Who was asleep. Face down on the bar. In his own drool. _By God _Leo was regretting giving him alcohol.

Gaila shot him a sympathetic glance as he attempted to wake the kid, placing his arm around Chekov's shoulders and bodily dragging him from the stool whilst the kid muttered sleepy reproaches in his own language. At least, he assumed they were reproaches, the kid could have been accusing him of having a cow fucking prostitute for a mother for all Leo knew. He hoped not.

As he shoved the kid away, telling him to get home -thank god he only lived across the road - and watched him stumble off, McCoy tutted. He wasn't going to say anything to Sulu, the kid probably wouldn't remember telling him anything tomorrow when he woke with a _motherfucker _of a hangover tomorrow, probably be too ashamed of having revealed his (fairly obvious but who's judging?) secret to bring it up even if he did remember, but he might charge Sulu a bit extra if he came back to the bar. Which currently had no alcohol. There went Leo's vindictive little pleasure. Damn it.

He was distracted from his thoughts of retribution by the sound of a horse. He glanced around. Majestically riding in from the road was a shadowy figure, framed by moonlight. The horse reared and the figure moved with it, making staying on the horse seem effortless, even though McCoy knew it was murder on the thighs.

The horse's two front legs landed back on the ground with a thud, and the rider clicked his heels against its flank. Almost grudgingly - how a horse could be grudging Leo had no idea but this one was managing it - the horse began trudging forward. The rider headed towards where Leo stood illuminated by the light from the bar.

The horse stopped just in front of him. Leo stood on the veranda, arms folded, waiting for this mysterious figure to make a move.

"This a speakeasy?" The voice cracked as the rider spoke, sounding almost prepubescent. Leo raised an eyebrow.

"Are you underage?"

"No!" The voice sounded indignant. Admittedly, it did sound a lot more like a young man now rather than a thirteen year olds voice breaking. "I'm twenty three!" The rider made to get off from the horse, removing his foot from the stirrup furthest away from Leo.

In slow motion, the horse bucked, its hind legs leaving the ground. Clearly not expecting it, the riders nose smashed into the horses neck. The horse wiggled itself, leaning almost comically to one side - its right, the closest to the bar. The rider slid off the horse, frantically scrabbling in thin air for some kind of handhold, one foot still secured tightly in a stirrup. He ended up upside down, staring at Leo with shocked eyes - who returned the look, mouth open - before quickly righting himself, one leg held at an awkward angle as he hopped about on his left foot, attempting to free his right from the stirrup. The horse whickered softly - sounded like snickering to Leo, he must be going mad - and the rider finally freed himself. He rose from his odd half crouch smoothly, looking for all the world like he'd just descended from his horse with the grace of a dancer. McCoy was fairly certain that Chekhov in his current state could have managed getting off that horse more gracefuly than this guy had. Mind you, the fact that he was pretending nothing faintly ridiculous had happened took some balls, to give this guy credit.

"Jim Kirk." Said kid announced holding out his hand. "I'm a bootlegger."

Leo snorted, disbelieving, before turning on his heel and walking into the comforting light of the bar letting the doors swing shut behind him.

If the crazy kid and the homicidal horse were still here in the morning, he'd introduce them to Pike.

_Slightly longer this time. I mainly just really wanted to write an AU and put no thought into anything at all. I'm basically making it up as I go along :)_

_Kind of worried about my characterisation fail… _

_Also pretty sure I failed at my American history/geography, but hey._


	3. Chapter 3

Go South, that's where they sing the blues. Part 3

Jim groaned, thumping his head on Scotty's table.

"I can't believe it!" The first guy he sees, a handsome dark haired guy standing outside the building that was clearly a bar, and he humiliates himself.

Jim didn't care about the sexuality of his partners, he found pleasure in whatever warm body was willing. In Iowa, he had mainly gone for women - he didn't want his mother to have another reason to be disappointed in him - but a moment of drunkenness had caused him to make a move on an old school colleague. Who reciprocated. Jim wasn't some kind of creepy rapist - his partners were all willing. This guy had moved away soon after, but Jim had wanted to stay and keep an eye on his mother. So he endured the whispers and stares, the abuse hurtled at him when he walked by, the graffiti and the vandalism. But he needed to get out eventually.

He'd met Monty Scott in a barn near his mother's house. Jim had been caught in a sudden barrage of rain and had run for shelter. Scotty, as he was quickly christened - Jim could never resist a good nickname - was passed out face down snoring wetly in the hay. Next to him was an odd looking still. Jim had taken a quick sniff, cautious eyes on the big snoring man at all times, and found his eyes watering. It was strong stuff.

And Jim had seen an opportunity.

The man had introduced himself as soon as he'd woken up, cheerfully admitting that it was in fact vodka he had been distilling. Jim had offered his services selling the stuff, something which apparently had never occurred to Scotty before, he just liked getting drunk.

Scotty had mentioned some old friends in this town Space, and Jim had jumped at the chance. This was his big chance to prove to himself that he wasn't some fuck-up that would never amount to anything. So they'd arranged to meet down there when Jim had sorted out his affairs.

When he and Cupcake had arrived at the end of the road, there'd been no signs on the road indicating that this was the end of the line, no hints as to this actually being Space. The only reason he'd worked it out was when he saw this drunk kid weaving away from a building with the word Enterprise on it, watched by a man with folded arms, did he remember that Scotty had mentioned the bar being called the very same name. Priding himself on his deduction, he had become overzealous, prompting Cupcake too suddenly and causing him to rear back. Used to this, Jim had held on tightly.

He saw the man watching him, a warm light washing from behind him, so he'd _gently_ spurred Cupcake onwards, intending to sound out is opinions on bootlegging.

Unfortunately, the closer Jim got to him, the more he realised that this man was _handsome_. Tall, with muscular arms and a chiselled jaw. Jim found his mouth suddenly dry and swallowed reflexively. The man stared at him, implacable. He found that he was suddenly struggling to remember what it was he'd wanted to ask the man. He swallowed again.

"This a speakeasy?" His voice cracked embarrassingly. It hadn't happened since he was a teenager! Why, god, were his stupid vocal cords deciding to fail now? No matter, he could get this back, he could still make a good impression.

The man raised an eyebrow, before speaking in a velvet rich husk of a voice. Jim held his breath, whatever the man said would decide their future relationship.

"Are you underage?" What? No! He wasn't supposed to say that! He was supposed to be cautious and nervous, but he would invite Jim into the warm inviting light behind him and Jim would accept, graciously, and make him feel at ease and get him laughing. And then, they might have a bit to drink, and then Jim might brush elbows with him and… and….

Anyway. This man was not supposed to be calm and collected, asking drily about his age. It wasn't the way things were supposed to go.

His irritation showed in his sharp negative answer. He was twenty three! So what if he maybe went to school a bit earlier than other kids and maybe skipped a few years? He was still plenty mature!

Still annoyed, he went to get off Cupcake, pulling his foot out the stirrup sharply. That was all the opportunity his stupid massive horse needed. What happened next was a farce he would really rather never think about again. His nose was still aching from the nosedive into the horses neck. He was pretty sure he'd pulled something hopping around like a maniac and that really _really_ hot guy had witnessed his humiliation. Despite screaming obscenities inside his head, Jim had acted natural, as if falling off his horse was something that happened everyday. (Which it was but he wasn't about to admit that.)

Coolly, he offered his hand to the guy, introducing himself clearly, and hoping for a least a name in return. When he didn't get anything, his nervous tendency of just randomly blurting shit out came to the fore and he introduced himself as a bootlegger.

_Way to show your hand all at once you idiot. He could be a policeman for all you know. You're going to be arrested before you've even sold one drop._

_Inwardly cringing, Jim, through awesome force of will, didn't let his hand drop. The guy never took it though, just snorted and walked away. He's gotta be honest, that was kinda insulting. Even though he didn't make the best first impression, that was no excuse for that guy to just ignore his friendly introduction!_

_Anyway, he'd managed to find Scotty's home - "follow your nose Jim, you can smell ma whisky at 100 paces through two steel doors." - and had proceeded to dictate his utter humiliation to him, receiving alcohol as consolation._

"_So you like men do ye? Never knew you had it in you Jimmy boy." Scotty grinned at him. He was a cheerful guy, with a sharp tongue. Strange obsession with sandwiches though._

_Jim groaned. "Scotty, knowing you, you'd worked it out with the first ten minutes of us meeting. Don't pretend."_

_Scotty grinned again, showing teeth, but shrugged. "Mebbe. Who's to say really?"_

_Jim raised his head from the table, fixing the Scot with a glare. Monty wriggled uncomfortably, held in the gaze of the piercing blue, slightly bloodshot eyes Jim had inherited from his father._

"_Anyway, that's enough of that shite. Cannae be arsed listenin' tae you whinge aboot shit a'day. Go work to do Jimmy boy!"_

_Jim groaned. "Scotty. It's 2am. I rode here on a horse that hates me. Let me sleep!"_

"_Don't come it wi' me boy. You just want tae go wallow in self pity f'r a few more hours. Ye willnae sleep a wink and you know it, so you can help me make some alcohol."_

_Damn. He had him there. Jim wasn't actually tired, still hept up on the adrenaline of falling off his horse and embarrassing himself._

_He sighed. "What do you need me to do?" Scotty grinned triumphantly._

"_You can start by making me a sammich!"_


	4. Chapter 4

Go South, they sing the blues there part three

"Hey, Pike. Some kid came by here the other night. Claims to be some kinda bootlegger lookin' to sell."

"And you didn't think to tell me this earlier McCoy? Jesus. Sometimes…" Pike cleared his throat. "Never mind. What did you say to him?"

Leo shrugged. "Didn't say anything' t'be honest. Kid must have been drinking his wares or something. He fell off his horse, and I figgered he was just some kid looking to make a quick buck."

Pike scrubbed a hand over his face. "So you don't have anything on him? We need a supplier if we're going to stay in business! God almighty McCoy."

"Hey! I didn't say I didn't have anything on him! I have a name… Jim Kirk."

Pike looked up sharply. "Kirk? I think I knew his father… If it's the same family... They're from around Iowa. There's some crazy Scot I know from the war just come back to Space from there. He might have met Kirk while he was up there."

"Do you want me to go see if they're around? I've nothing better to do - considering we have no alcohol anymore." Pike nodded, lost in memories of this Kirk's father and the war. His hand reflexively moved to his legs.

Leo shifted uncomfortably. He'd gone to see Chekov - the poor bastard had the hangover from hell and refused to acknowledge anything he'd said whilst drunk. He'd directed McCoy to some guy named Spock. He was the guy you went to when you needed information on any of the residents of Space.

McCoy had disliked him from the start. He avoided him at all costs and would have been perfectly happy to never have spoken to him. Ever. But the guy clearly had a major crush on Nyota - the singer in Enterprise, and came to the bar every time she sang, so McCoy saw a lot more of him than he would have liked.

As loathe as he was to ask this clinical idiot for a favour, people kept themselves to themselves around here, and either didn't notice or didn't care when people came to Space. Leo'd never even heard any Scots around Space - never mind an apparently crazed perma-drunk.

So here he was waiting outside Spock's home in the pervading heat. He was sure the hobgoblin was making him wait deliberately - Leo'd never been the most pleasant to him.

Eventually, the door opened and a pale face stared out at him.

"Dr. McCoy. What can I do for you?"

"I'm not a doctor you bloody perceptive cow fucker!" Spock raised an eyebrow.

"My mistake, I'm sure. How can I help _Leo_?" McCoy ground his teeth.

"I need help finding someone. A guy called Jim Kirk. I think he might be staying with an old Scottish vet."

"Ah. The bootlegger. I know where he is. I can't imagine why you'd want to find him. You and Capt. Pike can't possibly be entertaining buying illegal substances."

McCoy glared at him. "We don't have any alcohol left Spock. If we don't get some, we'll all be out of a job. The beautiful Ms. Uhura won't be able to sing there any more Mr. Spock, and you wouldn't be able to see her every weekend. Surely we wouldn't want that?"

Spock inclined his head.

"Clearly, Mr McCoy, you are just as perceptive as I am. I ha though that my admiration for Ms. Uhura was well hidden. If it was not for your unnecessary reliance on illogical emotions, I believe we would be friends."

McCoy barely suppressed a shiver. Civil! He had to be civil if he was going to get anything from this oddly pointy eared guy.

"Thank you Spock. Could you tell me where Kirk is?"

"I can." Spock directed him to the Scot's home - just on the outskirts of town.

Leo was pretty sure this was the right place. That crazy horse was standing just outside it, grazing on some weeds. That was one tough horse - he was pretty sure that those weeds would have killed a lesser animal, himself included.

Approaching the door, he hesitated, Could he smell whisky? It had to be the right place then if this Kirk was a bootlegger as he claimed.

A shout came from inside, as the house was rocked by a small explosion. McCoy watched in disbelief as two men came running out.

"Goddamn it Jim! You were supposed to let it simmer, not let it boil over!"

"Well how am I supposed to understand your stupid fucking accent with its "Ayes" and its "Sandwiches!"

"No, you are not blaming this fucking thing on me! This was your bloody responsibility! And leave ma accent the hell out of it! It's a lot fuckin better than your "I'm a dumb hick who shags farm animals!" twang!"

McCoy cleared his throat. The men, previously so engrossed in the argument both turned to stare at him.

Kirk's eyes (Which were in fact really, _really _blue - he hadn't noticed in the dark) widened in surprise.

"You! You work at the bar? What are you doing here?"

"Came for your alcohol. We're out of drink at the bar, and if we want to keep defying the government we're going to need more."

Jim folded his arms. "Didn't seem too enthusiastic last night big guy. Who says we want to sell to you?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. Scotty looked between them, then slapped Jim round the back of his head.

"Stop being an idiot. Don't be petty just cause you made an arse of yourself last night. We need the money."

Jim glared at Scotty. Then at McCoy. But he didn't really have anything to say. He huffed, throwing his arms up.

"Fine. I'll sell you your stupid alcohol."

"I'll introduce you to the owner. You coming Scot?"

Scotty grinned. "Nah. I'll stay here and clean up the mess yon idiot over there made."

McCoy strode ahead, desperate to get away from this annoying kid that did things to his insides he hadn't felt since Joss.

"Slow down old man." Jim puffed

Leo whirled around. Jim pulling up short. They were almost nose to nose.

"Old man? I'll show you old man kid! By rights, you should be moving faster than me, if you're so young and fit." He spat, poking Jim in his shoulder.

Jim winced noticeably. Leo frowned. A poke shouldn't have had that effect.

"Did you hurt yourself when you blew up that still?"

Jim's eyes widened again. "What? No! I'm fine." Leo poked him again. Jim audibly groaned this time.

"Come with me." Leo practically dragged the protesting Kirk up to his room. He still had a small medical kit in his drawer - hidden beyond all sight.

"Take off your shirt kid." Jim blushed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm fine McCoy, honestly!"

"Don't be an idiot kid. It's a chest. It's not like I'm asking you to dress up as a princess and dance the airy fairy dance."

"What? Airy fairy dance?"

McCoy frowned. He hadn't meant to talk about Jo's games.

"Something a girl I know invented. It doesn't matter. Shirt. Off." Jim sighed, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head, wincing as he did so. A gash ran across his left shoulder.

"Looks pretty deep. S'probably gonna need stitches."

"What? How do you know how to treat wounds? You work in a bar!"

"I used to be a doctor kid. Don't talk about it. To me. Or to anyone. Seriously. I don't want idiots coming to me to kiss their booboos better. Or those idiots who fall off horses and expect me to help."

"Hey!" McCoy smirked at him. He pulled out a needle.

"This might hurt."

Jim winced as the needle pierced his skin.

"So how'd a doctor wind up in a shitty place like this?"

McCoy smiled wryly.

"This towns gets etched into your bones kid. Like it or not, I'm not leaving."

OH HAI GUYZ! I went to St Andrews open day last week :) Desperate to go there.

Random fact of me out of the way, how's this weird thing going? I'm not sure what I'm doing with it...


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